


What's a Little Secret Between You and I?

by mystarsandmyocean



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: I took some liberties with the prompt, Not quite as comedic as promised, Olicity Prompt Inspirations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-20 00:51:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2409089
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mystarsandmyocean/pseuds/mystarsandmyocean
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill for OPI's Winning Prompt #4:</p>
<p>Clowning Around AU: Oliver thinks that Felicity is keeping their relationship a secret because she’s ashamed or doesn’t trust him or something. Felicity is keeping it a secret because she knows there is currently a betting pool going around Team Arrow and she’s really competitive and doesn’t want anyone to win. Comedy ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's a Little Secret Between You and I?

Felicity’s tongue teases his, his mouth sucking on her lower lip, his nose brushing her cheek.  Her butt’s balanced atop his thighs, her arms tangled round his neck, and his hands are splayed beneath her shirt, thumbs curving with her ribs.  When they pull apart, she tilts her head at him, nibbling on her lower lip; he barely resists leaning in again to nibble on it himself, euphoria bubbling like champagne bubbles yet again that he  _can_  do that –

“Oliver?” she pants, pressing her palms into his chest.  Her fingers curl into his button down and he beams up at her.  The pain of the last few months all feels distant, a dream, compared to the fact that they’re  _here, together_. “I think – maybe – we ought to keep this between us?  Just for now?”

The bubbles pop. 

Sinking further back into his couch, the cheap cotton scratching his neck, his hands slide from her back to her hips; she slips back in turn, her weight falling on his thighs. 

“Ugh, that came out wrong,” she groans, tilting her head back.  The tips of her hair tickle his hands; her hands fist tighter in his shirt.  At least she hasn’t pulled away yet.  Not again.  “It’s just – ” her mouth twists into a moue “ – Roy has this stupid bet with Sara about, um, us, and just, he keeps asking when we’re going to get together, not that I think we  _are_  together, I mean, I don’t know we haven’t really talked or anything, just made out, not that it was nothing, it was great, ugh, hang on, three, two, one…”

She drops her gaze back down to his, her teeth back to nibbling her lip.  He’s caught between the urge to replace her teeth with his or to clarify that yes, the kissing was wonderful and he  _would_  like to be together, that has been a pretty clear intention of his for a while now. 

“Felicity,” he sighs, pulling her closer, her legs spreading further apart.  He wonders, briefly, exactly how far she can stretch before placing that thought to the back of his mind.   _Really_  not the time for that.  His thumb’s rubbing circles into her hipbone, his forearms resting comfortably on her thighs.  “I - ”

He what?  He loves her?  Of course he does.  He would spend his life with her, if she’d let him?  He’s not sure she’s ready for that, but he certainly is. 

“I want you.  I want  _to be_  with you,” he settles on instead.  “But – if you’re worried about Roy or Sara or anyone making you uncomfortable, then…”

He shrugs, ignoring the twinge in his heart.  He’s waited this long – not counting the months (and years) he spent thinking he’d end up alone.  What’s a little longer? 

He smiles – or at least tries to. “I want you to be happy.  Whatever makes you happy.”

She rests her forearms against his chest at that, her lips curling upwards.  “Thank you, Oliver,” she breathes, leaning forward to kiss him again.  Champagne bubbles up again in his stomach at the feeling of her lips on his, her fingers curling round his neck.  “Just for a little while,” she kisses into his mouth, “Just you and me and then we’ll tell everyone else?”

Just her and him.  He likes the sound of that.

—-

One week passes. 

Then two. 

There’s no distinguishable difference in their everyday lives; their surface interactions mimicking the same holding pattern they’ve been stuck in these last few months.  It’s only once the team’s gone that the walls come down, Felicity slipping her hand into his and guiding him home, his lips glued to hers.  He makes her coffee before she kicks him out in the morning, pulling him down for one last kiss. 

“I don’t want to put John in an awkward position,” she explains, shedding his shirt for her own, shimmying into one of her very short skirts.  She never lets him forget his things there, looping his tie around his neck, slipping his belt into his hand.  “He’ll want to know why we’re not telling anyone, so we’ll just tell him when we tell everyone else.”

The fact that it’s been half a month and they  _haven’t_  told anyone else remains unsaid.

“I could just drive myself in to work, you know,” he counters, his shoulders hunched against the door.  John’s his Head of Security now; driving him only a snippet of the job.  “I’m sure he’d appreciate some extra time with Lyla and the baby.”  Snagging Felicity by the waist as she passes, he pulls her into him, nuzzling his nose into her hair.  And  _he’d_  appreciate some extra time with  _her_  in the mornings too. 

Felicity squirms in his arms, wriggling round to face him.  She’s missed a few buttons of her shirt, leaving him with a generous view of her cleavage and collarbone; her hair’s still a tangled halo round her face.  She’s gorgeous, and as always, he doesn’t want to leave. 

“Oliver,” she sighs, nibbling on her lip again.  Her hands slide up his chest, wrapping around his neck.  “Just – a little bit longer?  Please?  I promise once we tell John, you can take all the time you want – ”

A smirk slides across his face at that, his hands bringing her hips closer to his. 

“Not that we don’t take our time now – ” her cheeks start to flush “ – or that you don’t take  _enough_  time, you do, you’re great, we’re great!”  She digs her fingers into his neck, hitching herself up on her toes.  “Everything is great, right?”

Her teeth go for her lips again, and he leans forward to catch them, hitching her fully onto his hips.  His forearms cradle her butt; her thighs gripping his waist.  “Yeah,” he breathes into her mouth, caught up in the walk back to her bedroom.  He’ll catch her, he knows, if they fall. “We’re great.”

—-

He doesn’t bring the topic up again, resigns himself to early morning escapes and half-asleep kisses. 

Another week passes. 

And then a few more. 

They’re nearing two months now, and  _still_ , they haven’t told anyone, not even their team, that they are officially seeing each other. 

No.  Seeing each other sounds too trivial.  So does dating.  Committed, Oliver decides.  They’re  _committed_.  Or he is, at least. 

He thinks Felicity is too, until he overhears her conversation with Sara one night, long after Roy and Digg have left.  He should be gone too, but, well, he’d hoped to catch Felicity alone, maybe convince her to come home with him.  He even brought dim sum, springs rolls and xiao long bao and sweet cream buns, all her favorites.

“How’ve you been holding up?” Sara’s voice echoes, pitched low as it is.  

He knows he shouldn’t.  He’s lucky no one heard already, the Foundry door still half-open, the wind whistling at his back. 

“Not too bad,” Felicity sighs.  His ears catch the familiar click of fingers across keys; she must still be working.  Sara always trains Felicity when she’s in town, teaching her moves best suited for her frame.  It hurt, at first, seeing everyone except him balance their double lives – even Sara, whose had so much less practice than him – but he’s grateful they’ve struck up an easy friendship since then. 

He thinks Felicity would have liked who Sara was before the island.  He knows she likes the woman she is now, their natural talent at Battleship only one of their shared interests. 

He remembers couples nights, with Laurel, before the island.  He’d like that, now - him and Felicity, Sara and Nyssa, Digg and Lyla.  Roy and Thea, too, if his sister decides to forgive his student.  If not, he’ll understand.  He’s grateful she’s even considered forgiving him. 

Laughter from the alley startles his attention back to the present, reminding him to either stay or go, no more wavering in between. 

“Sometimes you just know, you know?” Felicity continues, “When it was time, I just sort of…expected it?” 

Oliver’s eyebrows furrow.   She’s not talking about them, is she?  He doesn’t think so – everyone still thinks she’s upset about Ray, after all – but, well, it can’t hurt to be sure. 

Guiding the door closed, he sticks to its shadow, decision made.  He doesn’t want anymore secrets between them. 

“That makes sense,” Sara hums.  Oliver can’t see but imagines her leaning against the computers, her usual spot during mission prep.  “That’s what it was like, when – with Oliver.  Sometimes, you just know.  Right?

“Yeah,” Felicity sighs, her voice soft and forlorn.  He’s not so sure they’re talking about Ray anymore, panic clawing at his chest.  “I do.”

It’s been six weeks since they’ve started – whatever this is.  They still haven’t told anyone.

He’s tried not to worry about it too much, letting Felicity take lead on what they do and where. 

Now, though, he’s not so sure where exactly it is they’re going.  His appetite gone, he backs up into the door, the paper bag crinkling between his fingers.  Maybe it’s best for tonight to give Felicity some space, to think through her words and adjust to whatever it is she  _knows_. 

He’d thought they were on the same page.  He’s not so sure anymore. 

—-

The next week passes slower than the last seven combined. 

He suspects it’s because, for the first time since what he’d termed the most euphoric night of his life, he doesn’t spend every spare moment by Felicity’s side.  She doesn’t question his newfound absence, beyond one brief mention on Tuesday that she’s seeing old friends from QC for dinner and won’t be in the Foundry.  She will, however, be back at her apartment by eleven.   

In past weeks, he’d taken that as an opportunity to swing by while in his Arrow suit, sweeping her into his arms and letting her undress him, mask first, revealing the man beneath the vigilante. 

That night, he texts her –  _busy night, don’t wait up_  – instead.

If anyone notices the newfound tension in the lair, they don’t mention it.   Not directly, at least.  Roy, as always, drops a few cracks about him having an arrow up his ass, at least until Felicity snaps at him to drop it; Dig just raises an eyebrow when he punches the dummy harder than usual.  He doesn’t need to say what he’s thinking – Oliver hasn’t had this much of a temper problem since Felicity and Ray were ( _still?_ ) in the throes of love. 

He’s had time to think these past few nights, with only drug dealers and businessmen in need of threatening, and that’s the best conclusion he can come to. Felicity’s still in love with Ray, never stopped loving him, and doesn’t want him to hear she’s taken up house with Oliver Queen, his ex-rival and successor.  There are always grumblings about the need for more development in Starling, especially since the Undertaking and Slade, and even without his helm at QC, Ray has enough respect to gain the principal needed for his own company. 

For all he knows, Ray could return to Starling any day now.

Grunting from the floor of his apartment, Oliver counts off another set of push-ups, wishing Digg hadn’t kicked him out of the Foundry. 

“I don’t know what your problem is,” he’d told Oliver, arms crossed, a solid wall of muscle between Oliver and the release of mindless exhaustion.  “But you need to either deal with it or move on.  And that  _doesn’t_  mean running yourself too ragged to fight.  I thought, man, you’d realized you’re not a machine?” 

He  _had_  accepted that.  Accepted and wanted a life beyond the hood, a real life, with Felicity, whatever that took.  He nods his forehead against his palms, centering his breath, before flipping to his back.  One more set of crunches and then he’ll rest.

Felicity is the one who doesn’t want a life with him.  He just needs to accept that.          

Mid-fifties, a knock sounds from the door, jarring the silence of his apartment.  “Really, Oliver,” Felicity had teased, the week before, her fingers laced atop his chest, “Not even a radio?  There has to be some music you like listening to.”

He’d thought about futzing with one, remembering his old love from his pre-island days.  He’d even pictured radio bits mixed with motherboards, his home making space for her. 

The knock sounds again. 

Flipping to his feet, he doesn’t bother with a shirt, ready to bark away whatever paparazzi or restaurant biker’s managed to slip past building security.  He could afford a better place now that his company’s repossessed, but he’s been putting it off, wondering if maybe he’d need a larger place. 

At the moment, though, it’s plenty space just for him. 

“What?” he snaps, opening the door, his eyes automatically dipping down.  Felicity’s eyes meet his, narrowed behind her frames. 

“Hello to you too,” she greets, striding into his apartment, “Don’t worry, I won’t be long.  You can go back to whatever it is you were doing before - ”

Her voice trails off, her ire fading.  He knows what she’s seeing.  His table shoved to the side, no food, not even his laptop set up.  A mancave, he thinks, Thea would have called it. 

“What exactly  _were_  you doing?  Or have been doing?  You’ve been avoiding me all week, which, is fine, you’re not obligated to spend time with me or anything, but I thought maybe…”

She’s crossed her arms, he notices, tucking her hands beneath her biceps, her chin jutting upwards.  He walks towards her, the door sighing shut behind him, but stops when she tenses, clenching his fists. 

He should say something.  Anything. 

“Do you want a drink?” He winces, remembering the contents of his kitchen.  He’s been spending all his time with her lately; it’s been weeks since he’s done grocery shopping.  “I have…water?”

She shakes her head, catching her bottom lip between her teeth.  Another minute passes, then two, the two of them caught in the center of his living room, too far away to touch. 

“Are you…,” Felicity asks, her voice firm, “Are we – did we break up?  I thought, I mean, I guess, if that’s what you want, I understand, but I just – can you tell me?  Because a relationship is a two way street, buddy, and you kind of can’t just  _decide_ something like that and not give me a heads up, so…”

She swallows, wrapping her arms tighter into her chest.  “Are we done?”

He might need to sit down, the breath tight in his chest.  Maybe he has been overexerting himself, but he swears Felicity said she thinks  _he’s_  breaking up with  _her_.  As if he’d ever  _want_  to break up with her, not when he’s learned his lessons thrice fold this past year.  

 “Felicity,” he intones, “I want to be with you.  I’ve  _wanted_  to be with you.  I thought…”

He tenses, thumb digging into his forefinger, remembers those mornings she’d shoved him out the door and her conversation with Sara.

“It doesn’t matter what I thought.  You know what you want, and I can respect that.” He chuckles, but there’s no joy behind it. “I wasn’t expecting it, but…I’m assuming that’s why you didn’t want to tell anyone?” 

He’s avoided her gaze through his speech, not wanting to see the pity in her eyes, but he lifts his head now.  Her arms are still crossed, but she’s come forward, just toeing the edge of his personal space. 

“Oliver,” Felicity says, her voice pitching up, “Of course I want to be with you.  Why would you – what?” She groans, pressing her fingers to her forehead.  “I didn’t want to tell anyone because, ugh, this is going to sound so  _stupid_ …”

Not quite champagne bubbles are beginning to bubble inside him.  He’s feeling lightheaded, all of a sudden.

“Last time we tried – ” she waves her hand, verdant nails flashing in the light, “ _this_ , it sort of, well, blew up and we weren’t sure – and you kind of freaked out, which, I know, kind of a worst first date ever sort of thing, but I just…”

“I didn’t want to  _change_ ,” she sighs, tilting her head, locking her eyes with his. “I thought if it was just you and me, then maybe someone wouldn’t say something or nothing – nothing bad would happen, which, yeah, I know, we spend our nights locking criminals away, so obviously bad things  _do_ happen.  But I thought maybe, if we didn’t tell anyone, it would ward them off?  The bad things, I mean, not the criminals, we’re good, mister, but we’re not  _that_  good…” 

He laughs this time, a smile breaking across his face.  “So just to be clear,” he says, stepping forward, his hands still poised at his sides, “you’re  _not_  breaking up with me.” Felicity nods, her lips curling upwards; his smile grows wider in exchange.  “And I am  _definitely_  not breaking up with you.”

Crossing the last inches of space between them, she slips her hands into his, wrapping his arms around her back.  “I want this to work,” she tells him, tiptoeing up to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth.  “I  _really_  want us to work.” 

He pulls her in close, locking his arms so they’re pressed flush against each other.  “Good.  Because I want you.  And I’m not going to stop.”

Beaming up at him, her smile lighting up her whole face, Oliver thinks she’s never looked so beautiful. He draws her in for a kiss, nibbling on her lower lip, slipping his tongue in between to tease hers.  She sighs into his mouth, and he hitches her onto his waist, the euphoria of kissing her filling him anew. 

He barely survived the week.  He couldn’t go back to before if he wanted. 

Luckily, he doesn’t want to.  And neither, it seems, does she.

“We should tell everyone tomorrow night,” Felicity sighs into his mouth, her fingers carding through his hair. “Though, I guess John will technically find out in the morning when he picks you up?  I know you like going into work early, but I don’t need to be there until ten, so I was kind of planning on sleeping in…”

“Felicity,” Oliver growls, moving from her mouth to suck away at her shoulder.  He’s wanted to tell the team for weeks.  He no longer remembers why he cared quite so much. 

She swats his ass, sliding down enough so they’re facing each other again. “Oliver.”

“I’ve got a better idea,” he smiles at her, pressing butterfly kisses to her face, “We’ll have a party.  Queen family tradition.”

He captures her mouth before she can protest, splaying one hand beneath her shirt and across her back.  She’s laughing when he pulls back, her hair curling in a blonde halo round her face. 

“I’ll call the caterers,” he promises, her eyes widening in protest.  “It’ll be the party of the year.  Where there’s Queen, there’s Smoak.” 

It’s a terrible title.  A terrible idea, really.  But she’s laughing and he’s euphoric; he could announce his love to the world. 

He kisses her again; she presses closer to his chest.

For now, though, he’ll announce it to her.    


End file.
